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We had our first bbq of the year today. We sat outside, drowning in the scent of jasmine, eating salad and steak and savouring the gentle breeze. We tested the sprinkler system for the garden, and I started the long process of simmering some beetroots til tender, so I can pickle them for future days of heaven.
Spring is usually the season we start to grow things, but in Perth I started months ago. My seedlings are straining against the plastic of the seedraising unit, secondary leaves pressed against the hope of freedom.
I have been thinking as I weed lately, thinking on the nature of gardening and on the nature of ships - friendships, relationships, and other ships. I sometimes see myself as a cog, part of a gigantic machine of humans which turns, regardless of desire, regardless of goals or hopes or dreams. We function, and continue to function regardless of the teeth that mesh well, or the cogs that mis-step, or the cogs that derail us and send us plunging into the unknown.
Sometimes I see actions as cogs on a wheel too. This actions fits into the groove; this tooth crunches as it forces a place, this tooth just doesn't quite fit...
I do not know what day today is. My senses tell me it's the season of jasmine. Gentle breezes, cats demanding, the smell of water on the air and the greasy sent of barbecued meat. Hot skillet smells entwine with grilled aspargus and the sharpness of balsamic vinaigrette. Within the cycle of the city, it is Thursday. Daycare is over for the day, and school is complete for a term. My children are returned to me, rotund with party food and delirious with exhaustion. Yet still they read me 'Where Is The Green Sheep?'
I feel right now that some of my friends are on the same wheel, and that we are teeth, with several teeth between us, and I don't quite see them in the flesh, don't hear their voices, don't connect on any physical level. But we're on the same wheel, sister-teeth that mesh, and in such ways we support each other, and cherish each other. We help each other to continue the movement of our lives. We connect, and we cherish the connection, and it stays strong.
I think sometimes we mistake connection for contact. To me, contact is the verbage of the day; the hi, how are you, the hellos and small talk and general inquiries into nothing. Connection is where we cherish the time and space the person has made with us, and where we can see them in all their flaws, and in all their oddities, and all their not-me strangenesses. It's when you can answer "I'm not so good," to the meaningless questions and know that no matter what you say, you are with someone who loves and supports you, and who will always cherish and hear you.
In my voyage of thinking what do I want, what do I need, I need to be cherished. I need to feel like someone is pleased to see me. That they value my time. That they want me - all of me. I need to feel my connection is cherished.
Spring is usually the season we start to grow things, but in Perth I started months ago. My seedlings are straining against the plastic of the seedraising unit, secondary leaves pressed against the hope of freedom.
I have been thinking as I weed lately, thinking on the nature of gardening and on the nature of ships - friendships, relationships, and other ships. I sometimes see myself as a cog, part of a gigantic machine of humans which turns, regardless of desire, regardless of goals or hopes or dreams. We function, and continue to function regardless of the teeth that mesh well, or the cogs that mis-step, or the cogs that derail us and send us plunging into the unknown.
Sometimes I see actions as cogs on a wheel too. This actions fits into the groove; this tooth crunches as it forces a place, this tooth just doesn't quite fit...
I do not know what day today is. My senses tell me it's the season of jasmine. Gentle breezes, cats demanding, the smell of water on the air and the greasy sent of barbecued meat. Hot skillet smells entwine with grilled aspargus and the sharpness of balsamic vinaigrette. Within the cycle of the city, it is Thursday. Daycare is over for the day, and school is complete for a term. My children are returned to me, rotund with party food and delirious with exhaustion. Yet still they read me 'Where Is The Green Sheep?'
I feel right now that some of my friends are on the same wheel, and that we are teeth, with several teeth between us, and I don't quite see them in the flesh, don't hear their voices, don't connect on any physical level. But we're on the same wheel, sister-teeth that mesh, and in such ways we support each other, and cherish each other. We help each other to continue the movement of our lives. We connect, and we cherish the connection, and it stays strong.
I think sometimes we mistake connection for contact. To me, contact is the verbage of the day; the hi, how are you, the hellos and small talk and general inquiries into nothing. Connection is where we cherish the time and space the person has made with us, and where we can see them in all their flaws, and in all their oddities, and all their not-me strangenesses. It's when you can answer "I'm not so good," to the meaningless questions and know that no matter what you say, you are with someone who loves and supports you, and who will always cherish and hear you.
In my voyage of thinking what do I want, what do I need, I need to be cherished. I need to feel like someone is pleased to see me. That they value my time. That they want me - all of me. I need to feel my connection is cherished.
